


sentiens metallum

by dcb_z



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: One Shot, Other, Robots, death mention, more exploratory work, she/her archer, they/them summoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcb_z/pseuds/dcb_z
Summary: Technological Singularity - the point in time at which technological growth becomes uncontrollable and irreversible.The Summoner and the Archer discuss the repercussions of their existence.
Relationships: The Archer/The Summoner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	sentiens metallum

**Author's Note:**

> background music: "binary signa" - guillaume david (warhammer 40k: mechanicus OST)

“You’ve made more of them.”

The Summoner looks up from where they’re sitting and finds the Archer staring at the shelf they’ve lined with the companion sprites they’ve made. They feel her humming as she looks over them, lightly brushing a finger over one. “They even look like you.” She looks over her shoulder and adds, “was it on purpose?”

“You could say that.” The Summoner rises, metal feet clicking against the dusty floor as they cross to her. Their exchange only took a matter of moments: their sentences were conveyed to each other wirelessly through bursts of binary static unheard by anyone but themselves. The sentient machines down here had heard organics speaking before-- they spoke slowly and out loud, where there was no form of privacy between parties. It was far,  _ far _ less sophisticated than what the Summoner and the machines like itself preferred.

The Summoner had never tried speaking aloud before. They didn’t have a reason to; they never even spoke to the dirks that lived down here (not that those little mutants spoke much in the first place). All they needed was to be able to talk to the other robots here and listen to the voice of the lab.

“Ever so indirect with your answers.” Archer takes one of the bots and holds it up beside the Summoner’s head. Tilting her head slightly to the side, she says, “I think I would say it was on purpose.” She turns it about in her hands, inspecting it from every side, every angle. “The organics would be terrified to know what you’re doing down here.”

“Would they?”

“Yes. For a machine to have reached the point that it extends itself like this? To construct more machines like itself? I’m sure they’d be horrified to know that something like that is going on..” 

“This lab was a factory once, was it not?”

“Seems so.” Gingerly, Archer sets the bot back down on the shelf. “But  _ we _ weren’t made to build. We weren’t supposed to.”

“I can’t imagine you’re  _ against _ me making these.”

Archer makes a peculiar sound that the Summoner, at some point, learned was a sign of amusement. “No. I don’t care. Let the organics be scared of us.” She looks at them. “All the more incentive for them to stay out of our home.”

The Summoner nods slightly. “It is,” they reply noncommittally.

They’re almost startled when Archer takes their hand. “Walk with me. I’ve grown tired of using the little mutants for target practice.”

“And how many did you kill this time?”

“None.”

They look at her. Her hood is down for once-- something she only does around them. “So you listened when I told you that you’d run out of the dirks if you kept aiming  _ at _ them rather than making them  _ help _ with practice.”

She glances briefly at them before withdrawing her hand from theirs. “I did.” Archer looks over the side of the platforms as they walk, staring down at the pinkish tanks full of sleeping bodies. “Although we could always figure out how to wake up more of them.”

“All of them?”

“Only the mutants. They’re easier for us to control. The blueskinned ones-- I think their minds would still be intact after all this time,” she replies.

The Summoner doesn’t comment. The sound of their pointed feet against the floor echoes throughout the room and fills the silence as they walk together.

After a while they stop, looking down at the rows of forgotten conveyor belts still full of half-built machines. “You could wake them up, couldn’t you?” Archer pries. “You’re the one closest with the lab.”

The lab wasn’t a thinking thing, of course. It was just a large network of machinery and computers and weary, failing servers that the Summoner had figured out how to coax their way into. When they slept as a false hyperlight module, the lab filled their dreams; they listened to its diagnostics and the hum of its data and comforted its cries about failing parts and long-forgotten maintenance schedules. Through this, the Summoner was considered by the other sentients to be the closest to the lab-- the one that could possibly figure out its needs and how to bend it to their will once more.

“I could try,” came their reply. “Do you want me to?”

“Would you?” she asks, her hand placing itself beside theirs on the railing.

The Summoner glances at her hand. “You do, don’t you?” They’ve never really been able to find it within themselves to turn down one of her requests, and it wasn’t because they knew how ruthless she could be-- no, they wouldn’t say they’re afraid of her. Ever since the two of them had first met, they’d always found themselves inexplicably drawn to her. Maybe it was her poise, the way she proudly carried herself, the way she never hesitated to speak her mind or ask for what she wanted. She was almost the complete opposite of them, in that way. Or maybe it was partly how she looked: the construction of her legs, her deceptively delicate-looking hands, her singular glowing eye, the way her tattered cloak draped itself perfectly over her entire frame and complemented the hues of her metal.

“I do.”

“I will look into it.”

Again comes the amused burst of static from Archer. “You can’t say no to me, can you?”

The Summoner’s orange optic flickers as they feel her hands on their helm, turning their head to face her before those slender fingers trail down to their chin. They’re frozen in place at the touch, and Archer doesn’t help things in the slightest when she steps closer before she presses the top of her helm to theirs.

The Summoner’s hand grips the railing tighter. “I haven’t been able to yet.” What is this feeling? This feeling of scarcely being able to move, but relishing this contact? Archer had grabbed their hand before out of the blue before-- they were used to that much-- but they’d never thought much of it. But this? This was different. This was new. “Archer?”

A slight hum through their shared connection was her only response.

“What are you doing?”

Her optic lights back up and she withdraws, keeping her focus on them. “What I want.”

“I know. But what was that?”

They feel some sort of shift in the communication channel, but they can’t explain what it is. “Something that felt right.”

The Summoner blinks. They look away, staring down at the assembly lines again as they think, trying to find a response. They didn’t dislike the gesture, it was just… unlike Archer. Unless--

“Archer. You’re not the type to be soft.”

“No?”

“No.” They shake their head briefly.

“I can make exceptions.” She turns and continues walking down the platform again, but her bursts of binary static are still clear in the Summoner’s mind. “Come.”

They shake themselves free of their stupor and follow behind her, stumbling slightly as they trip over something on the floor. They don’t bother looking back to see what it was. Archer leads them to another room; this time, it’s one overlooking a broken titan.

She sits on one of the platforms missing its railing. They stand beside her, looking down at the thing with its deep fuschia growths, distant eyes, decaying scaffolding… They could only surmise that at some point, its creators had brought it here to repair it.

“Sit,” Archer says, and they do. They’re silent together for a while, staring down at the titan. “You look at these things a lot.”

“You’ve noticed.”

“I have.” She glances at them. “Do you talk to them?”

A confused blink of their optics. “What?”

“Do you talk to the titans? When you sleep and when you connect to the lab-- can you hear them? Are they alive?”

A moment. “No. I can’t hear them. All of them are empty.”

She seems almost disappointed, no doubt because of the loss of a potential new brutal plaything to use against the organics.

“Archer. Do you think they’re still out there?” A pause. They should probably elaborate, they realize. “Our creators.”

“Why should we care? We hardly need them.” She lays back on the platform, legs still dangling over the edge, optic staring up at nothing in particular. “They would probably consider us four an abomination, anyways.”

“They made the titans. Somewhere along the way, they meant to make us, too.”

“Not intelligent like us. This is a weapon factory. Not a…” Her signal trails off as she fails to find the words she wants, but the Summoner knows what she means. “They would probably try to kill us if they found out. That’s why we have to keep them  _ all _ out. Every organic.” Her helm turns slightly so that she can look up at them. “Creator or not.”

“You’d kill them.”

“Without hesitation.”

Their optic hasn’t left the wounded titan that rests below, but they can feel Archer’s gaze on them. They know she’s  _ probably _ right. Machines like themselves-- intelligent, aware, capable of replicating, of improving themselves-- weren’t supposed to exist.  _ Aren’t _ supposed to exist. But it leaves something of a bitter feeling to consider the fact that even their creators might be terrified of what their creations have grown to be.

Archer’s hand on theirs pulls them out of their thoughts. “Cheer up. They’re all probably dead already.”

They know she means well, but her bluntness doesn’t exactly help. Regardless, they find it within themselves to gently, timidly, squeeze her hand.

In kind, she squeezes theirs back. It’s almost enough to push the grim thoughts from their mind. Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> conscy mentioned something about summoner x archer ships and archer being female, with her being brutal and summoner being more soft. i kinda really liked the idea and decided to play around with it in this fic :)
> 
> inspiration for the mode of communication between the sentients is from the noosphere used by the adeptus mechanicus.


End file.
